


grace kelly

by transishimaru



Series: grace kelly [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), M/M, Rating will go up later, TERFs and fetishists not welcome bye!, Trans Male Character, haven't decided how many chapters this will have yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 05:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18844999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transishimaru/pseuds/transishimaru
Summary: She hands him the needle, and all he can think is,I didn’t know it was oil.





	grace kelly

**Author's Note:**

> to celebrate being on t for almost two months, i decided to write a fic that worked with some of The Things i have/am experiencing on t. 
> 
> update 5/19/19: going to make this one fic in a series since updates will not be regular!

“You can have someone back with you when we move on to the second stage of this appointment, but we want to get some more private questions out of the way first, if you don’t mind?” 

Her smile on thin lips is more genuine than other doctor’s  Kiyotaka  has interacted with, but that doesn’t do much for his nerves. It’s not the doctor that has him in hives, making his nervous stomach quake, that kept him up all night with anxious three-a.m. texts to his boyfriend. 

But it’s a nice effort, all the same. “Sure,” he says, teeth clacking together when he finishes.

“Great!” her wrist movements are exaggerated, shaking the sleeve of her jacket down. He rarely feels out of place in his school uniform, but all at once he’s overcome by the idea that she might ask him why he’s wearing it. “We can start off with something simple. Do you smoke?” 

“No.”

“Have you ever smoked?”

“No.” His mind rambles nervously about the negative effects of tobacco, how much it bothers him when the people around him smoke, how much time he spends in his official capacity chasing around his peers who think they can hide it if they hang out behind the gymnasium. 

Good luck for him, and bad luck for them, that Coach  Nidai  still hangs around, and hates it just as much as  Kiyotaka  does. “Good. How about drinking?”

He shifts, feet begging to swing under the chair although he’s too tall for that.

“We won’t tell anyone,” she promises.

“Only once or twice,” he admits.

“A week?”

“Ever.” 

She laughs, shaking her head. “I’ll put down ‘no’, then.” Rambles, rambles. He knows it’s not a significant indicator of anything. Once or twice isn’t going to change the chances he’ll get his prescription this visit. 

It’s so hard to keep himself from looking at his watch. 

“This is the one we keep friends and family out of.” She looks, and waits, for him to meet her eyes. “Do you have any sexually transmitted diseases?”

“No.”

“Are you sexually active?”

“No.” 

“Alright.” She scribbles a little on the intake slip, fingers drumming on the back of the clipboard. “I should mention that should you become sexually active, or when you reach the age of twenty-one, we do offer gynecological services here.” 

Great. Good thing his father wasn’t in here for this. He wasn’t especially good at handling that kind of talk. “Okay.” 

She tilts her head at him, tapping on the notes with the end of her pen. “Who did you bring here with you today?”

“My father,” he says, heart pounding, “And my boyfriend.” 

“I’m assuming that means you’re out to them?”

“Yeah,” he says, staring at his boots. 

“How are they taking that, Kiyotaka?”

He’s starting to fidget with the medal on his chest, and he knows what it must look like to her. It’s hard not to answer with immediate defensiveness. “My father’s known for a while. He’s trying very hard! But it’s...it’s very confusing for him.” She  mhm’s  and he knows that she’s nodding. “He doesn’t totally...get it. But not in a bad way!”

“It can be hard for people who have never had that experience personally to understand, or know the right things to say. But it’s good that he’s supportive.” She’s scribbling again. It’s not unlike being in the school counselor’s office. “What about your boyfriend...?”

“Mondo,” he supplies. “His brother is trans.”

Beat. He wonders if she knows him. She will, almost definitely, know  _ of _  him. “Did you come out before, or after you started dating?” 

“Oh, we didn’t even meet until high school.” It takes him a couple seconds to register that those words don’t tell her anything. “Oh,  er . I’ve been binding since the end of middle school.” 

“Are you binding now?”

He wants to go back in the question, assure her that Mondo has been nothing but supportive, that he’s the one who gave  Kiyotaka  the binder he’s wearing now.

Moving on, moving on. “Yes,” he says. “Should I take it off?”

“If you are able to get your script today, then you probably should, yes, before you come back for injection training.” She doesn’t give him space to ask more about that, folding her hands in her lap. “I think that’s it for the most personal questions I have for you, unless there are any  questions  you’d like to ask me before I bring your father and Mondo in?”

He had a list, somewhere. He should have brought it in with him, or did he...? He should take it out of his pocket, give it a once-over before he lets her move on. 

But in his anxiety like this, he can’t do much else but nod stiffly. She picks herself up from the desk, lanyard jangling as she exits the office, giving him time to look around. 

He can just imagine what his father and boyfriend look like together, in the waiting room. People probably think Takaaki’s dragging Mondo in to take care of some girl he’s knocked up – not that it would be anybody’s business if he was, just like it’s none of their business what they’re actually here for. 

His doctor is clearly surprised, but handles the shock with grace. He doubts she put two and two together before. She’d known that he had the last name Ishimaru and that he went to Hope’s Peak, but there were always people now and again who met him that didn’t come to the conclusion that he was  _ that _  Ishimaru.

At least, until they met Mondo. 

Ultimate Morals Committee Member didn’t get you looks. Ultimate Biker Gang Leader did. 

There's an odd moment where Mondo and Takaaki look at each other with level amounts of politeness and fear, trying to determine who got the chair next to Taka. In the end, Takaaki throws up his hands and says, “Just pick one!” and Mondo scurries to it. Cops? Not frightening, unless they’re his boyfriend’s father.

“Mondo Oowada,” the doctor accidentally blurts out.

“Yeah,” Mondo says. The ‘you  gotta  problem with it?’ is  implicit . 

“Before we start going over the legal forms, are there any questions either of you might have for me?” 

She’s looking more at Takaaki than at Mondo, and Mondo’s grip on  Taka’s  hand is viselike. 

“Plenty,” Takaaki says, and then pauses, looking at his hands. “Left my list at home, though.”

She laughs, practiced and polite. “That’s okay. If you think of anything, any of you, you can e-mail me at home.” 

The next half-hour is her going over legal documents that starts off with a list of symptoms of hormone-replacement therapy, from definite and permanent to potential and temporary. Most are things that Taka has known about for a while, and that Takaaki takes with gentle nodding: acne, thickening body hair, deeper voice, quicker to anger (“not violence, mind you,” she says, “but think of it like road rage”; Mondo snorts and covers his mouth quickly with his hand). 

It’s when she moves on to – other – things – that Takaaki - “- drying of the vaginal walls, larger clitoris -” His palms feel sweaty. His dad looks ready to pass out. Mondo is trying to look anywhere there aren’t eyes. And just when he thinks they’re finally over that bit, he finds that  she‘ s only paused to say, “By the way, you can still get pregnant -” 

He tunes so much more of it out. He’s perfectly capable of reading, and he’s going to have to do that anyway to keep from looking at his bright-red father, his hand shaking the paper.  

* * *

They take his blood and they give him a script and he  sits , for half an hour, sandwiched between his father and his boyfriend, all of them awkward and none of them saying a word. From a distance, he’s sure they look like three strangers trying to avoid each other.

Taka starts to fidget again, knees bouncing with his hands in fists between his thighs. It hasn’t been  _ that long _  and it won’t take  _ that long _  to get it filled, but there’s still an intangible fear in his stomach that despite all signs to the contrary, this will not happen; that at the last second, the pharmacist will come out and say that they won’t fill his script after all on the basis of morality. He's heard of it happening before.

His father reaches over to put a hand on his knee, an old tactic to get  Kiyotaka  to sit in place. He'd asked about forty questions near the end of the session about testosterone and medication, testosterone and alcohol, testosterone and caffeine, testosterone and sunscreen. He could feel Mondo’s thinning patience through the sound of his boyfriend biting on his nails, another bad habit he’d wanted to break but given him a rest on because at least it meant he wasn’t punching something. 

His father (probably) wasn’t doing it to get on their nerves. He was just very thorough. And very careful. 

Mondo reaches over, fingers on the inside of  Kiyotaka’s  arm to get his attention.  Kiyotaka  grabs his hand, and squeezes. 

“You  wanna  take your jacket off, babe?” Takaaki whips his head around when he hears the term of endearment. “You’re sweatin’ bullets.”

He doesn’t bother to point out that he always does that, that he’ll do it worse once he’s been on a month. Everything feels hotter than an oven when he’s anxious. 

When the pharmacist calls his name, he stands quick and unsteady, and shouts a little. Mondo laughs. His father rolls his eyes. 

It’s not much of a walk back to the doctor’s office, but it’s gone from moderate to buzzing inside, every seat and table and inch of wall space taken up so they have to stand by the door. “Don’t you need to buy your needles?” Takaaki mutters to him, his eyes over his son’s head like he’s daring someone else to listen in to their conversation. 

“And a sharps box,” Mondo says. “If they got one.  Forgotta’bout  that.” 

They don’t. “But it’s like, two bucks at  WalMart ,” the girl tells him. 

It doesn’t take as long to get them back this time, and the appointment is written as ten minutes in the block. His dad goes in last, still looking like he’s expecting someone to jump out and scare them.  Kiyotaka  thinks to himself that it must be a novelty for Mondo to be the only reasonably calm one in the group, and almost laughs at himself, digging his nails into his palms to keep his arms at his sides. 

The exam room isn’t really built for three adults, but they manage. 

The nurse gives them each a handout and a rundown that goes more or less like this: two alcohol swabs, one vial, black needle, blue needle, sharps box. Mondo doesn’t bother looking at the paper in favor of rubbing shaking arm. 

“You should really pay attention, in case you need to help him,” she says.

“I been  helpin ’ my brother with this shit for four years,” he says, in what passes on Mondo for a polite tone. 

“Just humor her,” both  Ishimarus  say. 

She illustrates the correct way to hold the needle (45 degrees, only 45 degrees, not ninety unless he wants to do thigh, he can do that next time if he doesn’t like -) and how to pick an injection site (your belly button like the face of a clock, clockwise from your perspective, don’t use the same site twice -). She illustrates twisting the needle onto the plunger, drawing it back, the dosage amount, injecting the air, pulling extracting the oil, pushing some back. 

She hands him the needle, and all he can think is,  _ I didn’t know it was oil _ .

He's signed every form and every waiver. He’s been waiting five years for this, seven if he counts when he first thought first suspected first  _ knew _ , thinking back then he could just fight off every thought like a mechanism of self-defense. 

He's thankful that his dad isn’t staring at his face, ready to ask him if he wants to change his mind, but at his stomach where his shirt’s rolled up. 

“Don’t forget to pinch it, Taka.” 

It hurts a lot less than he’d thought it would. It stings more when he pulls the needle out, and the nurse claps for him like he’s three and getting a tetanus shot. It's a little patronizing, how they’re all congratulating him on something that he’s sure the nurse, at least, has seen a hundred times over.  

Mondo punches his arm, like they’ve gone three years and six months into the past and he’s still trying to figure out the whole hitting-on-without-actually-hitting thing. Somewhere over his head, his father ruffles his hair. “So, do you feel like a man yet?” he asks. 

It’s equal parts anxiety and intrigue, looking at his son with half of a smile. 

It’s too soon to tell, but he likes to be optimistic. So he says “Yes,” anyway. 


End file.
